A Hot Nerd

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~~VESPER~~

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I sit still on the edge of the oversized leather sofa, letting the steady rhythm of Caleb’s ragged breathing wash over me. My faded band t-shirt is soaked straight through to the skin. I have been in love with my best friend, Caleb Ashford, since we bumped into each other in a crowded college courtyard ten years ago. It has been a decade of silent torture, of biting my tongue and forcing smiles. It is not like I will ever confess my feelings to him. I know he does not look at me and see a woman he wants to drag into his bed. He probably never will.

Right now, the reality of my position is painfully clear. We are sequestered in his messy living room, and I am holding his heavy frame flush against my chest, listening to a grown man sob into my collarbone.

That nightmare of a girlfriend has broken his heart again. If I am keeping score, and I always do, this is the third time since January.

"I can't believe she did this to me, Vesper."

His voice is a broken rasp. I slowly run my fingers through his dark, messy hair. The soft strands slip between my knuckles, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to ignore how good the intimate contact feels. I force myself to focus on the mess in front of me instead of how right he feels in my arms.

"What exactly did she do? You still haven't told me."

He shifts his weight, pressing his face deeper into the crook of my neck. "I don't know how to say it."

"Well, start from somewhere."

My patience is wearing dangerously thin. The digital clock on the microwave reads past nine in the evening. I have been anchored to this spot for hours, sacrificing a perfectly good weekend to watch the man I love disintegrate over a woman I despise. I don't know why he bothers shedding tears over this. I know for a fact he will be right back in her bed by next week, whispering apologies for things he never even did. They execute this toxic dance every damn time.

I should be more sympathetic. A good best friend would offer endless platitudes and warm tea. But ten years of watching him chase after the exact same destructive woman has severely eroded my capacity for pity.

"Scarlett's not coming back, Vesper. She left me for good this time."

"You know that's a lie."

"It's true. She's engaged. She sent me this digital wedding invitation, and I've been thinking about running my phone through a meat grinder."

That single word stops the breath in my throat. Engaged? Scarlett is actually getting married?

Caleb finally pulls back, giving me some much-needed space to breathe. The dim light from the floor lamp casts harsh shadows across his features, and I get a clear look at his face. The stubble on his sharp jaw has grown far past the rugged, sexy phase and crossed over into something feral and unkempt. His simple white t-shirt is rumpled and stained near the collar with what looks like yesterday's takeout. I have seen this man through breakups, job losses, and family drama, but I have never seen him this thoroughly wrecked. That is saying something.

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and fumbles for his phone. His long fingers tremble visibly as he unlocks the screen and taps into his messages.

He thrusts the bright screen directly into my face.

There it is. A nauseating, animated rose-gold wedding invitation pulses on the display. An elegant, flowing script loops across the digital parchment, cheerfully announcing the upcoming union of Scarlett Whitmore and some random guy named Barrett. The date is set for exactly eight weeks from today.

My heart executes a violent stutter in my chest. A frantic, fluttering sensation spreads through my ribs, sending a rush of pure adrenaline straight to my fingertips.

I clamp down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep a massive grin off my face. The metallic taste of blood hits my tongue, grounding me. This is the best news I have heard in years. The wicked witch of his life is finally out of the picture. Someone else has claimed the hurricane, and Caleb is officially free.

I keep my tone low and soothing, aiming for maximum sympathy. "Poor baby. Did you know she was dating someone else?"

He lets out a hollow, bitter laugh and drops the phone onto the coffee table. "I mean, it's Scarlett. When has she ever been faithful?"

"You've got a point."

He slumps back into the deep cushions of the sofa, letting his head loll back against the leather. He stares blankly up at the ceiling fan like the spinning blades might drop a cosmic explanation into his lap. "I just can't believe she's leaving me, Vesper."

"I find it hard to believe myself."

My eyes hungrily trace the lines of his strong jaw, the curve of his lips, the dark eyelashes spiked together with dried tears. I have spent a decade memorizing every single inch of his face. I have mentally cataloged every smirk, every scowl, every tired sigh. But this current expression is entirely new territory. It is the look of complete and utter defeat.

A normal person would feel devastated seeing their best friend shattered like glass. But a dark, selfish part of my brain is screaming in victory. This is my chance. The door is finally open.

They have been lovers since high school. They were together way before I ever stepped foot into Caleb's life. Scarlett is a walking hurricane. She thrives on high drama, shattered plates, screaming matches in public parking lots, and wild makeup sex. She keeps Caleb on a dizzying, miserable edge. In contrast, I am the steady ground. I am the girl who balances his budget, organizes his messy kitchen cabinets, and holds him together when Scarlett inevitably tears him apart for entertainment.

Sometimes I lie awake in my quiet, empty bed and wonder if that shared history is the true key to her iron grip on his soul. She knew him when he was just a teenage boy with a fragile heart. She molded his concept of love into something chaotic and painful. I have sat on the sidelines and watched Scarlett string him along for a decade, secure in the knowledge she would always circle back for another round of destruction. The sudden realization that she has cut him loose is thrilling and terrifying. What happens to us now? If he heals, will he finally look my way? Will he crave peace instead of a storm?

His question hangs heavy in the stagnant air of the living room. "Who am I without her, Vesper?"

I reach over and give his knee a firm, reassuring squeeze. "You're Caleb Ashford. You'll be alright."

He shakes his head, refusing to look at me. "I can't be alright without Letty."

"There are over eight billion people in this world, statistically. Just pick someone new."

He turns his head slowly, leveling a flat, deadpan stare at my face. "Statistically? You're such a nerd."

The word hits me like a physical slap across the cheek.

He has called me that a million times before. It has always been his go-to weapon for teasing me about my job as a cybersecurity analyst, my weird obsession with retaining random trivia facts, and my massive collection of vintage sci-fi novels. It was always an inside joke. But today, echoing in the quiet devastation of his living room, the label lands with a sharp, sickening weight.

A nerd. That is all I am to him. I am a safe, asexual concept. I am the reliable sidekick. I am not a woman with desires, a beating heart, and a body. I will never be a woman to him.

The melancholic yearning bubbling inside me instantly hardens into a brittle, defensive anger.

I stand up abruptly, breaking the physical contact between us. I smooth down the front of my practical jeans and push my thick-rimmed glasses higher up the bridge of my nose. A sudden, desperate need to shatter his perception of me takes over my brain. I will show him just how wild and unpredictable I can be.

"You know what? Let's go to a club and get wasted."

Caleb blinks at me, his brow furrowing in deep confusion. He looks at me like I just suggested we go rob a federal bank. "You want to go to a club?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever been to a club before?"

He sits up straighter, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Some of the dull, boozy fog clears from his eyes as he takes a long, assessing look at me. He is looking right at plain, boring Vesper, dressed in her weekend uniform of stiff denim and a faded band shirt, with her dark hair chopped into its usual blunt bob and straight bangs.

I force the words out, sounding vastly more confident than I actually feel. "Not exactly. But there'll be drinking and dancing. I bet it will be fun."

The stark truth is that nightclubs are my version of a personal hell. I belong in quiet coffee shops, local bookstores, and server rooms filled with the low hum of computer cooling fans. The ear-splitting music, the suffocating crowds of sweaty strangers, the sticky floors, the massively overpriced drinks. I hate all of it. But right now, I would walk barefoot through a literal fire pit if it meant making Caleb smile and look at me with genuine surprise.

A slow, dangerous grin spreads across his handsome face. "Great. You're right. I need a distraction."

He pushes himself up from the sofa, a sudden burst of manic energy rolling off his frame. "I’ll go put on something appropriate, and then we'll stop by your house so you can change out of whatever the hell you have on right now."

I glance down at my comfortable clothes, a hot flush of self-consciousness creeping up my neck. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

He turns his back and heads straight for his bedroom hallway. "Nothing, if we were going to a library book sale. Trust me, Vesper. Let's show Scarlett what she's missing!"

The bedroom door clicks shut, leaving me standing alone in the living room. I sink slowly back onto the leather cushions, a wave of instant regret crashing over my head. My impulsive pride has set a trap, and I have just walked right into it. What on earth have I gotten myself into?

Nightclubs are exactly as terrible as I imagined. The downtown club is every single thing I feared it would be.

We bypassed the massive line outside thanks to Caleb tossing cash at a bouncer, and now I am trapped in a sensory nightmare. The heavy bass of the EDM track is loud enough to vibrate against my ribcage, making my teeth ache. The air is thick. It smells of cheap tequila, expensive cologne, and damp, sweating bodies pressing together in the dark.

I feel exposed. The dress Caleb forced me to wear is a disaster. I dug it out from the darkest corner of my closet—a forgotten relic purchased for a distant cousin's wedding three agonizing years ago. It is made of a stiff, dark plum material that rides up my thighs with every single step. It is too tight across the chest, too short in the hem, and is currently making me hyper-aware of curves and body parts I usually manage to safely hide behind oversized knit sweaters. I feel like an imposter playing a bad game of dress-up.

We have been trapped in this strobe-lit hellscape for forty minutes.

It has been forty consecutive minutes of standing near the edge of the writhing crowd, watching Caleb transform into a reckless stranger I barely recognize. He spent the first twenty minutes throwing back neon-colored shots at the main bar, chasing the alcohol with a manic desperation that made my stomach twist into hard knots.

Then, twenty minutes ago, he found his distraction.

Her name is Saffron. She is a tall, willowy blonde with endless legs, sharp cheekbones, and a predatory smile. She is wearing a metallic silver dress that clings to her curves like it was spray-painted onto her bare skin.

I stand awkwardly near the edge of the packed dance floor, nursing a severely watered-down vodka soda in a plastic cup. The condensation drips down my freezing fingers. I cannot look away from the spectacle happening ten feet in front of me.

Caleb and Saffron are grinding against each other with a raw, explicit friction that makes my cheeks burn. It is the kind of dirty, aggressive dancing that should get a person arrested in broad daylight.

Saffron has her back pressed flush against Caleb’s broad chest. She throws her bare arms straight up above her head, tangling her long fingers deep into his dark hair, pulling at the strands. Caleb has both of his large hands clamped tightly onto her narrow hips. He uses his grip to guide her rolling, circular movements, pulling her pelvis hard against his groin with every heavy drop of the bass line. He ducks his head, burying his face into the curve of her exposed neck, his hips snapping forward to meet the backward thrust of her ass.

The sight makes me physically sick. A sharp, acidic wave of jealousy burns the back of my throat. I feel incredibly stupid standing here in my tight plum dress. I feel painfully, obviously, and pathetically alone.

Caleb finally lifts his head, his eyes scanning the crowd until they lock onto my rigid form. His loud shout barely cuts through the booming music. "Vesper! You can't just stand there. Dance!"

I grip my plastic cup tight enough to crack the rim. "I don't know how to!"

Saffron turns around fully, her perfectly arched eyebrows pulling together in a condescending frown. "Then why are you here?"

I step a few inches closer, letting the anger fuel my voice. "To keep an eye on my best friend."

She tilts her head, an amused smirk playing on her glossy lips. "Like a chaperone?"

"Yes. In case you try to slip him a roofie or something."

Caleb’s face instantly drops. A deep flush of profound embarrassment colors his neck. He pulls Saffron tighter against his chest, his arm wrapping possessively around her waist to create a unified front against me. "Just ignore her. She's a control freak."

Saffron lets out a harsh, mocking snort that cuts right through my remaining dignity. "More like your mom."

"Big sister would be more appropriate."

The correction leaves Caleb’s mouth casually, but it lands like a localized earthquake in my chest. Big sister. He just categorized me as a sibling while pressing his erection against a stranger. The uncomfortable humiliation wraps around my throat, threatening to choke me.

Saffron does not drop the subject. Her predatory eyes rake over my face, lingering on my blunt bangs and my practical, thick-rimmed glasses. It makes my skin prickle. "She's hot though, with her bangs and screw-me glasses. A hot nerd."

Caleb physically recoils, his face twisting into a grimace of pure discomfort. "That's not a very comfortable image."

Saffron steps out of his embrace, shifting her weight onto one hip as she studies his reaction. "Come on. Don't you see it?"

Caleb crosses his arms over his chest. "See what?"

"You don't find her nerdish vibes stimulating?"

He avoids looking in my direction. He stares at the flashing strobe lights, his jaw tight. "More dancing, less talking."

Saffron refuses to let it go. She takes a step closer to him, her voice loud and demanding over the pulsing music. "Seriously? You're not even a little tempted to see Vesper naked?"